Confessions
by Angel16
Summary: COMPLETE Trip and T'Pol need to talk. COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

Title: Confessions By: Angel  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Time: Late season three, should have happened after Xindi weapon was destroyed, before returning to Earth.  
  
Synopsis: Trip and T'Pol need to talk  
  
Disclaimers: I don't own these characters, and I'm not making any money.  
  
Notes: I haven't written any fic in a really long time and all my previous stuff was for a different show, but I have loved these guys for a long time now (I've thought they were perfect together since season one) and this story was burning to escape the narrow confines of my mind.  
  
Trip turned the corner and caught a glimpse of T'Pol as she entered her quarters. "Here's your chance, Trip. Take it or leave it," he thought to himself. Never one to let an opportunity pass by, he approached her door. Pausing to collect his thoughts and take a deep breath, he glanced down at the data padd in his hand that would provide the excuse he needed. He smiled at the absurdity of being so nervous. All he wanted to do was to ask her to have dinner with him, right? He'd asked plenty of women to dinner before, no big deal. He could do this. Exhaling, he buzzed her door comm.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
He knew she was in there. He'd just seen her enter for heaven's sake. He decided to buzz again.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Well, damn. This was just irritating. Finally he leaned close to the door and called to her. "T'Pol? It's Trip. Can I come in?" He listened intently, feeling more than a little foolish. He was about to give up and walk away when he heard something. A groan? No, more like a muffled cry. That was all it took. As he was reaching out to override the security lock and enter her quarters, permission be damned, the door opened to reveal T'Pol looking her usual controlled self. That is, she would look that way to anyone else, but to Trip she looked tired and more than a little stressed. Briefly he wondered when he had gotten to know her so well.  
  
"Was there something I could help you with, Commander?" she asked in her reserved tone of voice.  
  
He visibly shook off the preceding events and decided to play along with her show of normalcy. "Sorry to bother you so late," he said as he offered the padd to her. "I wanted to drop off the engine status reports before turning in for the night." And to ask you to dinner, and if that goes well maybe something more, but his question remained unspoken.  
  
Stepping aside to allow him entry, she reached out to take the proffered data and that's when he saw it. Her hand shook like a leaf in an autumn breeze. She noticed his glance and immediately tried to pull her hand back, but it was too late. He reached out and grasped her small hand in his large one, the data padd forgotten and carelessly tossed onto a nearby table. He closed his fingers around hers and felt the smoothness of her skin in contrast to the quakes still coursing through her. "Okay, that's it. I've tried to pretend that everything's okay, but I've had enough. What's going on, T'Pol?" His voice was soft, but insistent. "You've been acting...different for months now. At first I thought it was just me, after we, you know..."  
  
"If you are referring to when we had sexual relations, as I've already told you..." she attempted to pull her hand back but failed as his hold tightened.  
  
Trip interrupted her before she could complete her sentence. He placed one finger over her lips, "If you tell me again that it was just an experiment, so help me I'll believe you. I'll walk out of here and never bother you again. Damn it, T'Pol, I'm worried about you." He sighed heavily before continuing, "Do you want me to go?" His eyes never left hers and his voice never raised a notch, but she knew he meant it. He would leave if she asked him to.  
  
For a moment, she was tempted. It would be so easy to just tell him to go, to not have to face him and the growing feelings he evoked in her. But she didn't want to do that, not with her heart. She knew what she had to do; she had to tell him everything. Slowly, she shook her head and he lowered his finger from her mouth.  
  
She took a step back from him to physically distance herself from him. She knew she would need the space in order to continue. Meeting his eyes, she almost whispered, "There's something I need to tell you."  
  
He started to approach her, but immediately stopped when she held up a hand. "Whatever it is, I want to help you." His tone was soft, friendly and she almost hated him for it. She had no right to accept his friendship after the way she'd acted. She started to pace as she began to speak.  
  
"Do you recall the ship of Vulcans that had been exposed to Trellium-D?" It was a rhetorical question, of course he remembered. "Something happened to me due to my encounter with them."  
  
"Yeah, you almost went insane. T'Pol, what does this have to do with..."  
  
"NO! You only think you know what happened! It has everything to do with it." He could see her physically calm herself down, but her outburst had frightened him more than he cared to admit. The intensity in her eyes burned through him and he realized this was a story she needed to tell without interruption. He nodded slowly at her to continue.  
  
As she resumed her pacing, her eyes fell to the floor. She knew she would not be able to tell him all she needed to if she had to meet his gaze while doing it. "I apologize for that, Commander. You must understand, there is a great deal to tell and it is...difficult." She chanced a glance at him and saw that he too was staring at the regulation carpet with extreme interest. He nodded slowly again, without looking up.  
  
Breathing deeply, she continued, "After my exposure to the Trellium-D, I was forced to look at myself differently. I meditated often about its effects and came to realize that while the severity of those emotions was overwhelming, I wanted more of them. I wanted to begin exploring my emotional being." Her pacing intensified and Trip fleetingly thought she might burn a hole in the floor.  
  
Suddenly, all motion ceased and she looked poised to jump off a cliff. "So, I devised a way to inject small amounts of Trellium into my bloodstream." She had jumped.  
  
Trip looked up sharply at her, his mind going at Warp 10 (as if such a thing were possible!). He wanted to scream at her, to flail his arms and rant, "What? How? Why? Why would you do such a thing?" But all he could do was stare. Their eyes met briefly and he saw what he could swear were tears waiting to fall. His anger dissipated as quickly as it had come and all he now wanted was to hold her in his arms and let her cry.  
  
She knew he could read the emotions pouring off her. She knew she should be embarrassed about that, although with him she wasn't. She knew that if she asked, he would hold her and comfort her for as long as it took. She knew that if she didn't break eye contact soon that's exactly what she would do.  
  
Her pacing resumed before he could be sure of what he was seeing in her eyes. He thought he saw doubt and hunger and fear, none of which he had ever applied to T'Pol before. Again, he was scared. For her, for himself, of his feelings.  
  
Following a short attempt to regain some mental control, she continued. "I quickly became addicted and found myself unable to function without regular doses. My emotions were seething within me and I had no way of controlling them." Her breathing became short and ragged. "Vulcans are, were, a very passionate people. We developed our emotional control centuries ago to preserve ourselves. When we hated it was a fierce hatred that started wars, and make no mistake, they were bloody wars. When we loved it was an intense, burning love hotter than any star in the sky."  
  
Trip's anger began to resurface. How dare she? What could possibly have been worth feeling that she was willing to risk her life? Damned selfish. He looked up again under veiled eyes, but she was pointedly avoiding looking at him. 'So much the better,' he thought and he continued to watch her.  
  
"With the doctor's help, I am now recovered from my addiction. However, I do have some lasting after effects. I am not always able to suppress my emotions. Unfortunately, the doctor believes this may be a permanent consequence to my actions." Her pacing quickened yet again and her hand twitched at her side. Trip suddenly thought of the old-fashioned zoos back on Earth. He had an image of a caged animal, ferociously waiting for freedom, testing every possible means of escape before finally finding one and bursting out with all the fury of a raging storm.  
  
His sympathy for her waned at the mention of the 'permanent consequence'. "So, let me get this straight," he spoke for the first time in what felt like years, his voice hoarse and gravelly, heavy with emotion. "You wanted to play with emotions like a toy, something you could take out and enjoy when it suited you or tuck away in a corner when they were troublesome? And now I'm supposed to feel sorry for you because as a nasty, little side- effect your toy box is broken?" He knew his tone was harsh and that he had probably hurt her, but right then he didn't care. "Well, sorry, T'Pol if our pesky feelings are an inconvenience to you but maybe you shoulda thought of that before you went prodding at your mind." Where was all this anger coming from? He didn't want to face the answer to that question.  
  
What had she expected? That he would be happy to hear this confession? That he would pat her on the back and say, "It's okay, I understand. Hey, let's do some neuro-pressure and take the edge off!" Of course not. She knew he'd be angry, hell she was angry, but still his rage threw her off and stunned her into silence.  
  
His ranting continued unabated, "So, tell me, is that what all this has been about lately? I thought we were becoming good friends, maybe more, but it was all just some drug-induced mirage. You don't feel anything for me other than what your injection tells you to. I guess you were right, it was just an experiment." His voice was suddenly soft, sad. He started to turn, to run for the door, but her voice slowed his departure. He paused, hand held still over the control panel to open the exit.  
  
"No. You must understand. The feelings I released were mine. Nothing was manufactured or imagined, the Trellium simply allowed me to unlock my control and actually experience them." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Please believe me."  
  
Trip's shoulders slumped. He considered giving in, turning around to face her and wrapping her in his arms, comforting both of them, but instead he pushed the button and the door opened to reveal the Enterprise hallway. He stepped through without looking back. "Trip?" she called softly. He paused, but without turning said, "Not now. I can't do this right now, T'Pol." The door closed.  
  
End Chapter 1 


	2. Therapy, man style

Title: Confessions  
  
By: Angel  
  
Rating: PG at most  
  
Synopsis: Sometimes a guy just needs to shoot things  
  
Disclaimers: The usual, I don't own these guys, not making any money, yada, yada.  
  
Notes: Thanks so much for all the feedback. I was really nervous writing ST despite my long love of it. Here's the next chapter. I hope you like it.  
  
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Trip's body moved powerfully down the corridor. His anger was such that he didn't even know where he was going, despite his purposeful stride. After only a few moments, however, he found himself outside Malcolm's quarters. Without a second thought, he rang the buzzer.  
  
Malcolm opened the door within mere seconds of the buzz. His relaxed, off- duty attire and gentle smile were in stark contrast to the man waiting on the other side of the door. Trip's very being emanated energy, he bounced on his feet and curled and uncurled his fists while waiting for his friend to answer. The moment the door opened, he barked, "Want to go shoot something?"  
  
Lt. Reed paused to take in the appearance of the fellow officer standing on his threshold. Whatever the problem was, Malcolm knew Trip needed someone to talk to before he exploded. "Sure, let me grab my hand phaser." He turned to retrieve his weapon from the nearby desktop, but Trip started off without him. Malcolm finally caught up with him halfway to the shooting range.  
  
The two men finished the short trip to the converted cargo bay in silence. When they entered, Malcolm started up the target practice program and they took a back-to-back stance and began firing. They completed two full rounds of the program before Malcolm dared to speak. "You know, if you want to talk about it..."  
  
"No, I don't," came the brusque reply.  
  
"Okay with me." Malcolm sighed, and then continued; "I don't mind wiping the floor with you. I'm outscoring you two to one." The friends continued the shooting match for several more minutes in silence.  
  
Then, Trip began speaking as if he were talking to himself, his voice getting louder with each syllable. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Just when you think you understand them, boom! She makes me so damn mad, I just want to...well, shoot something!"  
  
Malcolm ceased firing immediately and turned to face his friend. "Excuse me? 'She'? Who, exactly is 'she'?"  
  
"What? Um, oh," realizing his mistake, Trip began to fumble for an explanation. He lowered his weapon and turned to face his companion. "You know, the ship. They call ships 'she' all the time. It's fairly common."  
  
"Uh huh. The ship makes you want to shoot things. Why is that again?" Malcolm is incredulous but wants to hear this reasoning.  
  
Both men are now facing each other, target practice forgotten although the random spots of light are still flashing around them, begging to be shot at. "Well," Trip began, "you know how it is when you spend three years getting to know a...an engine. You finally think you have it figured out, at least somewhat, and suddenly it starts acting different. At first you think, 'Gee, maybe it's the new upgrade we just did', so you remove the upgrade and go back to the way things were. Then you realize, it wasn't the upgrade at all and you don't have a clue what the problem is. So, you try to do a diagnostic and in the process you discover the atmospheric regulators are having an adverse reaction on the warp drive. The next logical step is to repair the regulators, but then you find out that they've already been taken off-line and repaired by someone else. Now you're back to square one with a faulty engine that you thought you knew." Breathless, Trip sagged down along a nearby bulkhead. Finally sitting on the floor, he looked up into his friend's eyes and quietly asked, "What's next? Where do you go from there?"  
  
Malcolm was astonished at the utter confusion he saw in the Chief Engineer's eyes. The hurt and loss was coming off of him in waves now that he'd released them. Of course Malcolm knew that Trip wasn't talking about engines, and while he wasn't positive about whom the commander was speaking, he had a pretty good idea. Momentarily, he wondered what could possibly have happened between the two of them to cause his friend such grief.  
  
Sliding to the floor beside Trip, Malcolm hung his head before saying, "Engines can be pretty temperamental, or so I've heard. Maybe all you can do is to be there, everyday, learning its ins and outs. Some days you may not know what to do, but as long as it's your engine you have to try."  
  
"That's it? I have to try?" Trip looked at his friend with disbelief. "What if I never figure out the engine? What if it..."  
  
"Trip, only you can decide if you want to maintain this engine. Only you know if you're a better engineer because of this engine. Only you can stick with it no matter what or decide to turn tail and look for a new ship with a better engine." 'God, this analogy's getting old!' Malcolm thought. "Well, what do you think? Is there an engine out there, somewhere in deep space, that's better suited to you?"  
  
They sat in silence again, Malcolm purposefully not looking at his friend. If there's one thing men know how to do, it's be alone with someone else present. From the corner of his eye, however, he could see Trip repeatedly shaking his head and wiping his hands over his face. Finally, he seemed to reach a decision within himself. His restlessness ceased and he squared his shoulders.  
  
Without another word, Trip rose from his seat and headed for the door. "Hey! Where ya going?" Malcolm called to him.  
  
Trip turned to him and smiled. "I've got to go run a diagnostic."  
  
End Chapter 2 


	3. He's a doctor, not a ship's counselor!

Title: Confessions, Chapter 3  
  
By: Angel  
  
Summary: He's a doctor, not a ship's counselor!  
  
Disclaimers, etc: See ch 1  
  
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Dr. Phlox smiled as he sang a Denobulan lullaby to his Promethean beetles while feeding them. He moved on to the next collection of foreign creatures, still happily humming along. However, before he completed his task, the sickbay doors opened. He glanced over his shoulder quickly and welcomed Sub-Commander T'Pol in. "Ah, Sub-Commander," he began, "what brings you to my humble office this evening?" As he finished his question, he took in her appearance completely and was aghast.  
  
The Vulcan first officer was slouched and slightly more olive-toned than normal, but the worst was her eyes. He stared at them a long minute before he realized the problem. They were rimmed a dark shade of green. She had obviously been crying a great deal. "Good gracious, T'Pol. What's wrong?" He quickly ushered her further into sickbay from her frozen position near the door. Without touching her, he guided her to the nearest biobed and pulled the curtain closed around them, lest anyone else enter and see the condition of the usually unflappable woman.  
  
Without thought, she climbed atop the bed and sat with her legs dangling over the side. Dr. Phlox immediately seated himself upon a small stool in front of her and asked again, "What's wrong?"  
  
Her head hung low and her shoulders slumped. She stared at the floor. "I spoke with Commander Tucker," she said, barely audible.  
  
"Oh, T'Pol," the doctor said, rising from his seat he placed a hand on her sleeve covered arm, careful not to make skin-to-skin contact. Bending low to look into her eyes he continued, "I assume it did not go well? Would you like me to give you something to help? A mild neuro-sedative, perhaps?"  
  
"NO!" Her response was loud and robust, something he had not expected. She shook her arm free and continued, "I am sorry, doctor. I did not intend to shout at you. But no, I can not accept any drugs to make the...pain dissipate. I desired these emotions, now I must learn to control them, on my own." Her voice got progressively quieter as she spoke and the doctor got the impression that she was no longer speaking to him.  
  
"I understand. Perhaps you'd like to talk about it. What happened with Commander Tucker?" He resumed his seat and waited for her to answer.  
  
She shook her head slowly. "It does not matter what transpired between myself and Commander Tucker. I believe that relationship to be in the past." She paused and the stillness in the air was palpable. Dr. Phlox was at a loss. He'd thought for sure that Trip would stand by T'Pol and that together they would work through her emotional problems.  
  
"T'Pol," he inquired, "have I ever told you of Jarex? He is my third wife's son from her second husband. He is an artist, a painter, and quite a good one. One time, many years ago, at an exhibition of his work, I noticed the fluidity of his pieces. They all seemed to come from the same place in his heart. I asked him about it. What was his inspiration, I wondered, for these beautiful paintings that all seemed to flow together? Do you know what his answer was?" He paused before continuing; she, of course, did not respond. "He said that they all came from pain. He had recently lost a loved one in a terrible accident, and the feelings he encountered had compelled him to put these colors on paper. I told him that I was amazed that something so magnificent could come from such trauma, and then he said the most amazing thing. Not only did these incredible works come from darkness, but in the end it was doing the paintings that helped him grieve and heal from that loss. I have never forgotten that message. Sometimes we have to go through the most harrowing of circumstances to arrive at a better place and we often discover that we have grown and created beauty along the way."  
  
He was quite pleased with his inspirational tale, and was also quite glad for having such a diverse family to draw on for such stories. Therefore, he was not prepared for the Sub-Commander's next sentence.  
  
"In the morning I shall forward a request to Starfleet to transfer off of Enterprise. Now that Earth is no longer in danger, I am not needed here."  
  
"But, surely with Captain Archer...gone, Enterprise needs you more than ever." He tried to reason, to appeal to her sense of duty. He was certain that it was just a matter of time. "It would be illogical to leave the ship in such a state. Imagine the turmoil of the crew. They've just begun to adjust to the Captain's absence. We haven't even made it home yet!" He was begging now, anything to get her to reconsider. "At least give it more time, say 48 hours?"  
  
She raised herself up to her proper posture for the first time since entering sickbay. Her gaze met his and he was astonished by the sense of loss there, not just because of its existence, but because he could read it. "I do not believe so, doctor. I see no logical alternative. I am unwilling to remain on board Enterprise any longer than necessary, given the current situation." She pushed her way off the end of the small bed and was about to push aside the curtain when the outer doors opened.  
  
"Hey, doc!" Commander Tucker's voice called out through the medical area. Dr. Phlox looked briefly at Sub-Commander T'Pol before stepping around the curtain. "Yes, Commander? Can I help you?" He tried to sound cheerful.  
  
"Yeah, doc; you seen T'Pol around? I've looked everywhere for her." She closed her eyes and listened intently to his voice. He no longer sounded angry. In fact, he sounded concerned. 'Perhaps, there is still an opportunity,' she thought to herself. 'No. I will not open myself up to such humiliation again. These emotions will be purged, one way or another!' With that thought, she stepped around the partition.  
  
"I am here, Commander." The coldness in her voice chilled Trip to the bone.  
  
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Notes: Hope you're all still hanging in there! What do you think? Should these two live happily ever after, or go to opposite corners of the galaxy? I already know how it ends, but I'd love to hear your opinions.  
  
BTW, don't forget that this is set after the Xindi weapon is destroyed; therefore Archer is 'dead', but before Enterprise returns to Earth. I may be playing with the timeline a little, stretching things out to meet my needs, but sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do! 


	4. Grand Finale

Title: Confessions, Chapter 4  
  
By: Angel  
  
Disclaimers: See Ch. 1  
  
Notes: This was, without a doubt, the hardest to write. I tried my best to stay in character. Let me know what you think. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
  
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Dr. Phlox looked over his shoulder abruptly at the sound of her voice. He tried in vain to reconcile the image of the woman before him with the one he had spoken with just moments ago. They could not possibly be the same person. Where the previous person was small and frail this officer was regal and foreboding. Shaking his head in disbelief at the rapid transformation, he glanced back at Commander Tucker, still standing just inside the sickbay entry. 'Poor guy,' he thought before he commented aloud, "If you two will excuse me, I need to check on...something." With that, he passed by the engineer and headed out the doors into the main hall. Surreptitiously, he locked the passage behind him so that the two people inside would not be disturbed.  
  
"I've been lookin' ev'rywhere for you, T'Pol," Trip managed to get out. His tone bordered between relief and irritation. He ran a hand through his hair before stepping closer to her.  
  
She stepped back as he moved further into the room. 'I can not allow myself to get too close to him. It will make it that much harder to maintain my control if he touches me.' "Really? Why? Is there a problem with the ship?" She tried to keep a professional façade, to keep up mental shields that had been too weak for too long.  
  
The breath that escaped his lips came out in a rush. He tilted his head to the side, as if examining a complex equation. "What? No, T'Pol, I think we need to talk." He tried again to move closer to her, and again she stepped away.  
  
She attempted to circumnavigate him and head to the doorway, but he blocked her way. "Commander, I do not believe we have anything to say. Now, if you will please remove yourself from my path, it's late and I would like to go to bed." Her eyes continued to look at the floor with avid interest. 'He is too close, I can not maintain this front much longer!'  
  
"Damn, T'Pol! Why do ya' have to be so stubborn? Can't we talk? Please?" His frustration shone clearly in his tone, and as he spoke he reached out to put his hands on her arms. She pulled away as quickly as if he'd set her on fire.  
  
"We have said all there is to say, Commander Tucker," her tone began to waver and as she allowed herself to look into his eyes, he saw all the hurt and confusion she'd locked up for so long. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she realized he could read her innermost feelings at that moment. "Please, let me go."  
  
He knew she didn't just mean she wanted to leave sickbay. She wanted him to let her go completely, forever. He shook his head emphatically. "Uh uh, no way! Ya' don't git ta' do that. Ya' don't git to walk away now, not after ev'rything that's happened. I git to say my piece, too!" He was near tears at the thought of her leaving now. If they didn't work this out now, tonight, they might never straighten out this mess.  
  
"Your accent is particularly thick this evening, Commander. Are you feeling overly emotional?" She tried to keep the subject off herself, but knew that in the end she would fail.  
  
Again, his hand went through his hair, much more roughly this time. "Are ya' nuts? Of course I'm emotional! T'Pol, we need to deal with this, right now."  
  
Closing her eyes, she almost sighed. "Charles," she began softly and he knew he was in trouble, "there is nothing to deal with. I shared something very personal with you tonight because I thought you needed to know about it before we allowed our relationship to go any further. But, you made your feelings quite clear. I am unacceptable to you now. It is my intention to request a transfer off of Enterprise as soon as possible."  
  
"What the? Unacceptable? Whatever gave you that idea?" he yelled. "How dare ya' stand there and tell me my feelin's. Ya' want to know my feelin's? I'll tell ya'. I love ya', dammit! Are ya' happy now? Is that how ya' wanted to hear me say it for the first time?" He closed his eyes in defeat and lowered his voice. "I don't know where ya' got the crazy idea that I didn't want ta' be with ya', but ya' should try askin' a fella what he wants before just assumin'."  
  
Her brows were completely lost they had furrowed in so deep. The look of confusion that came over her face forced the expressionless mask she had so carefully pasted in place to fall silently to the floor. "I don't understand," she began when it became clear that he had finished speaking for a moment. "You left my quarters earlier, and you were so angry. I waited for you to return and when you didn't, I thought..."  
  
"Ya' thought I didn't care. Oh, T'Pol, honey, I'm sorry ya' felt that way." Once more he moved closer to her, and this time she didn't back away. "Sometimes, when we humans get angry or hurt, we have to deal with it on our own for a bit. You meditate, we 'blow off steam'. I just needed some time, to let ev'rythin' ya' said sink in." He tilted her chin up to look in her eyes. "I'll be honest, I wasn't thrilled with what ya' had to say earlier, but I was more angry that ya' didn't come to me sooner."  
  
Gazing in his blue eyes, she began to relax. "You are still interested in attempting a relationship?" Her voice was delicate, as if she were afraid saying the words would shatter the illusion. His smile was all the assurance she needed. He leaned down and gently touched his lips to hers.  
  
"Very much," he whispered after parting from the soft kiss. "Although, I think ya' need to learn to understand all these emotions ya' got now." His smile belied the teasing nature of the comment and he gently stroked her cheek with his fingers as she pulled his head down again.  
  
"Perhaps, you can help me with that?" she whispered before capturing his lips once more with her own.  
  
The doctor peeked through the sickbay doors and smiled even broader than usual at the sight that greeted him. 'Well, it's about time!' he thought before turning away and strolling down the corridor, again humming a happy tune.  
  
The End  
  
Notes: So, what'd'ya think? You didn't really think I'd end it any other way, did you?  
  
BTW, the sequel has been slowly – very slowly – forming itself in my little brain. Let me know if you're interested in seeing this story continue. 


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